


swan diving off the deep end of my tragic cigarette

by uaevuon



Series: Legends Never Die (the omegaverse geass AU) [10]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Foot Fetish, Hickeys, Immortality, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sub Victor Nikiforov, Vaginal Sex, Victor Nikiforov's Foot Fetish, dickstepping, magical contract a la code geass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 13:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18136097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uaevuon/pseuds/uaevuon
Summary: “Some might say that makes us soulmates,” Viktor joked.Mari looked off into the distance, contemplative, taking a slow drag from her cigarette. “Some might,” she agreed on an exhale. The smoke obscured her face.





	swan diving off the deep end of my tragic cigarette

**Author's Note:**

> **this work is part of a series, and will not make any sense without having read the previous parts.**
> 
>  
> 
> CW: smoking (tobacco and cannabis), yet more smut, knifeplay mention sort of
> 
> Other notes: this piece of the fic has one of my favorite scenes, which has been gorgeously illustrated by [hana_tox](https://twitter.com/hana_tox); it’s embedded in the second scene below, and linked external to its hosting on my personal website where you can view it larger. I don’t have words to describe how beautiful it is; you’ll just have to look for yourselves. The art is completely SFW, by the way. Please send hana your adorations!

“ _Tadaima…_ ”

Yuuri returned home, thoroughly snowed-on and exhausted after a three hour flight delay. To his utter shock, the air inside Yu-topia was saturated with the scent of pork and egg. 

“Katsudon?” Yuuri questioned, shaking snow from his sneakers. He looked up, adorably confused with his glasses fogged up and his thick scarf and coat making him look all puffed up and marshmallow-soft. “But I didn’t win.” 

He was still in the entrance, tapping his shoes on the threshold so as to not track snow into the house, and with his luggage halfway out the door. Viktor, appearing out of the snow and fog behind Yuuri, lit up in a heart-shaped smile. 

“Katsudon!” Viktor exclaimed, stumbling over Yuuri’s bag in his haste to get in the door and tug off his wet shoes. Yuuri smiled at him, soft and adoring; Viktor always got so excited about good food, never so much as his mother’s katsudon, which made him jump about like a child. Toshiya, who cooked most everything else the little inn-and-onsen’s kitchen had on offer, was only a little bit jealous that Viktor, like everyone else, so preferred his wife’s donburi, but he couldn’t argue when he agreed. 

From the kitchen, Yuuri could hear his mother pause in her whistling to call out, “ _Yuuri, Vicchan! Okaeri!_ ”

Mari was the only one in the main rooms of the inn when they entered further. She stacked seat cushions in the corner, preparing to sweep the floor now that the baths and dining room were closed to the public for the evening. Before Yuuri could even ask why there was katsudon, she explained: “Kaa-san found out you got a deduction because Viktor kissed you, so she decided you were the real winner. Don’t fight her on this, trust me.” 

“But Phichit deserved that gold,” Yuuri grumbled.

“And you deserve katsudon,” Mari said, allowing no argument as she began to sweep. 

Yuuri, cheeks flaming, headed for his bedroom, with Viktor following close behind. They dropped off their suitcases and Yuuri took out his skates to air out, but before he could unpack further, he heard his mother calling them back for dinner. 

Mari had finished sweeping, and the family table was already set with six bowls and cushions. The three elder Katsukis sat around it, along with Minako, who upon seeing Yuuri opened up a bottle of champagne to share. 

Yuuri sat down beside Minako, and Viktor took the open spot between him and Mari. It was a little cramped, but they all gave thanks for the meal and dug in. 

No-one ate with more reverence than Yuuri. He savored every bite, holding it on his tongue, with eyes closed and a content, easy smile on his face as he took in the way the flavors entangled on his palate. He sighed, then began to chew slowly; finally, he swallowed, and took a deep breath and a sip of hot tea or champagne to cleanse his palate before putting together another morsel. 

Viktor watched all this with his mouth full of rice and runny egg, not even chewing, just staring while his cheeks turned pinker and pinker, until the rice went soggy and the egg felt slimy between his teeth, and he stifled a gag when he swallowed it down. 

“You okay, Viktor?”

He felt Yuuri’s hand on his thigh, breath on his ear; the ghost of champagne wafted into his nose. The sensations brought to mind fleeting thoughts of Yuuri’s hands in other places -- on his ass, in his hair, smoothing down his back, curling around his fingers, pulling him this way and that, making his heart soar — 

Viktor nodded, and forced his eyes away. He couldn’t get turned on at dinner, not from watching Yuuri eat, of all things.

“Are you sure? You’re not tired?”

Yuuri was giving him an out. He could tell Viktor was affected, and wasn’t that a bit embarrassing, but Viktor held strong and shook his head. He wanted to be able to share this moment with Yuuri’s family, not just selfishly hide Yuuri away all to himself (even if that would please his instincts greatly, to wrap themselves up in one another and never let go, not even to see the light of the sun). 

“I’m alright,” Viktor said. “You should celebrate with your family. It’s not every day someone wins a silver medal in the Grand Prix series.”

Yuuri patted Viktor’s leg with a smile and went back to his food. 

Besides, Viktor thought, they could celebrate alone, just the two of them, later. 

\---

Well into the night, with Yuuri laughing and playing a card game with his parents and mentor, Mari slipped away for a smoke. Viktor followed her out onto the porch, drawing his coat on at the door. 

Mari held the cigarette up to her lips, puffing as she lit it with a flickering match. Fragrant smoke curled around her face, out her nose and the corners of her mouth, and she beckoned Viktor over. Viktor came up close and held out a hand, silently asking if he could share. 

“I thought athletes didn’t smoke,” Mari said. 

“I’m retired.” 

“Mm, of course.” Mari took another drag, then passed it over. “It’s a spliff. Strong one; don’t burn too much.” 

Viktor spun the hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, then shrugged and brought it to his lips anyway. “I don’t smoke often,” he said on an exhale. It itched a bit, but didn’t burn his throat like it once might have. He handed it back. 

“I keep trying to quit,” Mari said. “Almost had it. Then Vicchan died, and I needed something… I haven’t been able to make myself stop since.” 

“I’m sorry,” Viktor said, genuinely. The high began to hit Viktor right away, but not hard, and it’d be gone in minutes. 

“You drink too much,” Mari observed. 

“That’s true.” 

“Just because it won’t kill you doesn’t make it okay.” 

Viktor nodded. 

Mari huffed and rolled her eyes at him. “And you don’t listen. To think we’re letting you date our Yuuri…”

Viktor couldn’t help the goofy smile that spread across his face at that. 

“So. Seriously, what’s with the fake name?”

Viktor chuckled. This wasn’t the first time Mari had teased him for his alias; that she did so showed just how unbothered she was by his real identity, and the impossibility of his age. “I don’t know. I never think about my names that hard. It just came to me, I’ve had it for about five years now. I didn’t even know what it meant when I picked it.” 

“ _Nicholas Wynne._ God.” Mari blew her smoke right into his face. “You know, Yuuri’s name means something similar to yours.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. Katsuki means _winning spirit_ , and Yuuri is something like _courage to succeed_ , after one of his ancestors. Viktor Nikiforov — well, you know what it means. You were both named with a blessing to become winners.” 

“Some might say that makes us soulmates,” Viktor joked. 

Mari looked off into the distance, contemplative, taking a slow drag from her cigarette. “Some might,” she agreed on an exhale. The smoke obscured her face.

[](http://casnouveau.com/resources/hanatox_legendsneverdie_commission.png)

“Do you not believe in soulmates?” Viktor hasn't ever thought too hard about it, but always assumed it was so, that some people were just meant for one another. 

Mari was quiet for a moment, while the smoke cleared. She tapped the burnt end of her cigarette, letting the ash fall to the small metal pan at her feet. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “It’s an ancient idea, that two souls could be intertwined by destiny or whatever it is. These days only kids talk about it, when they understand love through fairy tales. I never thought much of it. Maybe I’m too old,” she said, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards. 

Viktor let out the ghost of a laugh. Mari? Old? Not compared to him, certainly. 

“But knowing the two of you, I guess I wouldn’t be surprised if it was true. Maybe you’ll make me believe in soulmates after all.”

Viktor looked after her, a bit stunned, his heart warm and full. That was almost like a blessing. He could hardly believe his luck. 

Mari took one last puff before stubbing out the cigarette. She placed it in a small metal pill case and slipped the case into her apron’s pocket. She slid the door open, and held it open for Viktor. “Alright, back inside, lover boy.”

Viktor lurched forward, stepping past her over the threshold. “Thank you, Mari.”

“What happened to the _neechan_?” 

“Thank you, Mari-neechan,” Viktor corrected. 

Mari hooked her arm around Viktor’s neck, needing to reach up on her tippy-toes to do it, and pulled him down enough to rub her fist against his head. “That’s right, you ridiculous bean pole, and don’t you forget it!” 

Viktor laughed and let her do it. He hadn’t had family in a century, and he kind of missed the roughhousing that he vaguely remembered from his hockey player of a little sister. 

He looked up at the sound of another’s laughter, and startled, his eyes meeting Yuuri’s unexpectedly across the room. Yuuri was smiling, his expression soft as he took in the scene before him. 

“Mind if I steal him back?” Yuuri asked. 

Mari let go of Viktor and shoved him forward, a hand in the middle of his back. “All yours. Remember, the walls are paper.” 

“Mari-neechan!” Yuuri flushed hard. True, many of the inner walls _were_ panelled with paper, but there was thick, modern padding in between to keep out noise and, really, there was just no need to call them out like that. They could be quiet if they needed to. Probably. 

Mari laughed as she returned to the front room, taking Yuuri’s place at the card game. She groaned when she found out Yuuri had been in last place. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Yuuri said. He pressed himself up against Viktor’s side, his head tucked down. 

Viktor reached around him, pulling Yuuri in. “Tired already?” 

Yuuri looked up at Viktor; he was adorable, with the tiniest flush on his cheeks and his hair tousled from travel. “Not really.” 

“Oh.” 

They stumbled down the hall and into Yuuri’s bedroom, where their lips locked, their fingers fisted into fabric, and Yuuri toed the door shut just in time to drown out most of a moan when Viktor’s knee slipped in between his legs. 

“Fuck me,” Viktor gasped between kisses. 

“Mmm,” Yuuri hummed against his mouth, then pushed him down onto the bed. He climbed on top of Viktor, hands scrabbling at buttons and zippers, flinging clothing to hang off the edges of the nest, and as soon as Viktor was bared to the world, Yuuri lifted Viktor’s hardening cock out of the way and sank down prostrate, fitting his mouth against Viktor’s dripping folds, worshipping Viktor’s sex with his tongue and the heat of his palm. 

Viktor keened and he grabbed at Yuuri’s hair, pulling hard; Yuuri moaned and licked into him, spreading his folds to taste. He tugged at Viktor’s cock only half-heartedly, more interested in the way Viktor pitched up when Yuuri fluttered his tongue up and down, and when he took VIktor’s inner labia between his teeth. 

Yuuri’s hands slid up Viktor’s thighs, gripped the muscle hard, and his tongue pushed inside of Viktor. Viktor’s hips bucked, but Yuuri held him down and sucked hard, getting a mouthful of heady slick as Viktor clenched hard around him. 

“You taste so good,” Yuuri murmured, kissing up the underside of Viktor’s cock. “I’m the only one who gets to taste you. I’m so lucky.”

“Yes, yes!” Viktor shouted, encouraging even as he lost his mind to the back of Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri took him down to the root in one bob of his head. Yuuri’s fingers pushed inside him, replacing where his tongue had been, and curled into his walls, and Viktor was gone. His body seized as he came all too soon in Yuuri’s mouth and all over his fingers. 

Yuuri’s fingers kept at him, slowly stroking inside of him while Viktor came back down. He kissed lightly at Viktor’s thighs, his spent cock, his swollen folds. He rubbed his face against Viktor’s inner thigh and the scent gland there, the skin flushed red with arousal. Viktor stared down at him, and Yuuri looked back, a content, adoring smile on his lips when they weren’t kissing Viktor’s slick, puffy folds; warmth in his eyes, lashes dark and low over lust-blown pupils. He took a breath, but before he could get the words out Viktor pulled at his hair again, hauling him up for a kiss, deep and thorough and not letting go for a second. He pushed Yuuri’s pants down around his knees and wrapped his fingers around Yuuri’s cock, stroking a few times, before guiding him to rest between Viktor’s legs. 

“Please,” Viktor whined, grinding his cunt down on Yuuri’s dripping cock. 

“We can’t,” Yuuri said, hoarse. “I don’t have--”

“ _Please_ ,” Viktor repeated, begging now. “I need you.”

“Viktor--” Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s wrists and wrenched his hands away, pinning them down by his shoulders. “No.” 

Viktor whined again, frustrated, but knew he was right. They shouldn’t, not without condoms. Even if the chances of Viktor getting pregnant were low, it wasn’t the time to take a risk like that. Viktor might want to carry Yuuri’s children, someday, if they could possibly manage it, but not now. Not when Yuuri was competing, for certain. And not if Yuuri wasn’t ready either. 

“Fine.” Viktor wriggled until Yuuri let him go, then turned over beneath him and lifted his hips, the curve of his ass bumping Yuuri’s cock. “I still want it in me. It feels good this way too, doesn’t it?” Viktor had never tried, never seeing the need for it, but right now there was nothing he wanted more. 

“Y-yeah. It does.” Yuuri’s palm rested on one cheek, and his fingers squeezed, pulling it to the side to expose his puckered hole. 

Viktor shivered, and his hole twitched with the cold air. “Please, Yuuri?”

Yuuri drew his fingers between Viktor’s legs, through the wetness dripping from his cunt, and revelled in the hitch of Viktor’s breath when Yuuri’s slick fingers pressed against that tight pucker, softly until it relaxed. “Yes.” He pushed, the tip of his middle finger entering, and Viktor whined. “God, yes.” 

\---

If one city could be the opposite of another, Moscow was the opposite of Johannesburg. 

Overwhelmingly, the architecture of Moscow had not changed since the last time Viktor had been there, over seventy years prior. Cars and trolleys still dotted the streets, and the metro rumbled many metres beneath the city, the entrances and exits looking no different than they had a century prior though the rails and trains had been upgraded since. Oh, there were refurbishings aplenty, a few new chrome high-rises, solar tiles and shuttle ports on nearly every roof, but most of the city’s remodeling in the past century had been internal, the outside showing nothing like the skywalks and glittering glass of Soweto. 

Stepping inside a building was like stepping through a time portal. Where the outside was the multicolored old-world styles with ornate fixtures and shrubberies, inside was all a pool of light and mirrors. Anodized titanium panelling here, glass prisms there, and showers of solar-powered fairy lights dotting every corner and doorway. Every window and skylight was kept pristinely clean, to let in as much of the natural sunlight as possible, nourishing the extensive indoor gardens that kept the air cleaner than any climate control ever could. 

Yuuri squinted through his glasses, a hand coming up to block out some of the light in the nearly blinding hotel lobby. Viktor had put on a pair of sunglasses as soon as they disembarked from the jet, and hadn’t taken them off since. 

Viktor checked them in, and as he saw a group of familiar skaters enter, he sent Yuuri off with their bags and key cards while he got them both coffee and a late lunch. 

He’d hoped to avoid the press, but no luck; while he and Yuuri had enjoyed the bit of distance afforded in South Africa by the politer journalists and cordoned-off paparazzi, here the vultures attacked. They swarmed around Viktor and demanded answers for where he’d come from, what his background was, what qualifications did he have, and why did he look so much like Viktor Nikiforov? 

Ha. If only they knew. 

He blew them off with vague responses and secretive smiles, while his tired, bloodshot eyes glared from behind his sunglasses. 

“What is your relationship to Yuuri Kat- _soo_ -ki?” 

Viktor turned to the reporter, who’d mispronounced his lover’s name. “Yuuri Katsuki,” he said, emphasizing the correction, “is my student. I am his coach.”

“What about a more personal relationship?” the reporter pushed. Viktor hadn’t heard his name, but suspected he reported for a trashy tabloid. “We all saw your lip-lock in South Africa.”

“Did you now? How interesting.” Viktor turned away and pushed his way through the reporters. 

He and Yuuri had talked about this, about going public with their relationship. Neither wanted to hide their affection, but Viktor worried it would distract from Yuuri’s hard work, and Yuuri worried that people would think ill of him for taking it up with his coach and would intrude on their personal lives. So they’d agreed to not say anything specific, but also not to deny anything, and to be affectionate but not overly so in public. 

So Viktor bit his tongue, as much as he wanted to scream to the world that a man as lovely as Yuuri Katsuki was _mine, all mine_. 

He found Yuuri sprawled on their hotel bed in his travel clothes, suitcases left in the entryway. Only one small desk lamp was on, the soft light smoothing over him and setting a comfortable, almost domestic scene. Viktor could imagine that he and Yuuri were crawling into bed together after a day of grocery shopping and, maybe, taking their dogs and children to the park… 

Viktor’s heart squeezed. How much he wanted that to become their reality. Pups of their own, and not just the fluffy kind. 

“Hello, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s head popped up, and he smiled. “Hey, Viktor.” 

Viktor came over and sat beside him, holding out half a turkey sandwich. Yuuri accepted it gratefully. 

“Yurio caught up with me in the elevator,” Yuuri said as he unwrapped his sandwich. 

“Did he now? What did he say?”

“He called me a fool, and said you’re disgusting for sleeping with someone to whom you’re contracted.”

“Wow.” 

“I told him good luck tomorrow.”

Viktor laughed. “Good! He’s probably seething.”

Yuuri leaned against Viktor, chewing slowly on his sandwich. “Do you want to fuck?” he asked, sleepy and nonchalant, as if this was something they did every day. 

Oh, wait -- they nearly did. 

“Not tonight,” Viktor said, though what he really wanted to say was _let’s make love until we’re both round with babies._ “You need your rest. And so do I; my stamina isn’t as good as yours, and I wouldn’t want to let you down when I can’t quite get it up tonight.” 

“Hmm. You’re right. You are an old man, after all.” Yuuri leaned away, smirking, while Viktor pouted at him. 

Viktor reached out and grabbed him. He pulled Yuuri in for a turkey-flavored kiss, and Yuuri couldn’t help but giggle into his mouth. Then Viktor’s lips went for his neck and Yuuri gasped, letting out a quiet moan when Viktor mouthed at his pulse.

“I won’t fuck you,” Viktor murmured. “But it’ll be nice if everyone thinks I did, hmm?” He nibbled at Yuuri’s skin, just below the line of his Eros costume’s collar. It might not show tomorrow, but in a few days, for the free skate, the delicious vee of Yuuri’s jacket and leotard would leave no biteable skin to the imagination. 

“Yes, but only if I get to mark you too.” 

“Of course!” Viktor nuzzled his nose against Yuuri’s scent gland, making his breath hitch and his fists clench in Viktor’s shirt — and then Viktor ducked away and bit at his collarbones. “Make sure the whole world can see your marks on me.”

Yuuri took that challenge very seriously; by the time they curled under the covers, Viktor nude and Yuuri in only a t-shirt, Yuuri had a slowly darkening collection of marks over his neck and decolletage, and Viktor’s neck was a garden of blossoming bruises, hickies sowed from his shoulder to his jaw, a few peppered in over his collarbones and pectorals, and a dark bite over each swollen nipple. Only his scent glands were left unmarred, as they hadn’t discussed anything so long-term as a bond bite, and it was exhilarating and sexy and Viktor wished with all his heart that the love bites collaring his own neck wouldn’t fade by morning. 

\---

Viktor had not been to his home country in a century, and he expected that by now they might have toned down the national pride attached to his name and face. Not so, as he found when he stepped into the arena and fans called _his_ name, not his skater’s name, nor even Yuri Plisetsky, who was competing for them. No, it was all about Viktor, simply because here was a coach who resembled him to a tee. 

Shoulders braced against his annoyance, Viktor plastered on a smile. He put his arm around Yuuri, leading him to the ice. 

In his skates, Yuuri had an inch on Viktor, just barely looking down at him. And when Viktor went to the floor to tighten Yuuri’s skates before the group two warm-up, he couldn’t see through Viktor’s hair at this angle. He leaned forward and tipped Viktor’s chin up, sweeping the fringe to one side, just exposing one edge of the scar on his forehead, and looked at Viktor’s pinched eyes and tight-lipped smile. 

“I’ll shut them up for you,” he promised, and then he got on the ice. 

Yuuri usually preferred to warm up with his jacket on, but lately he’d been shedding it early in the day, letting the frigid air seep into his bones and showing off the gorgeous costumes Viktor had helped him arrange. Today was no different; he went out on the ice in only the skin-tight mesh and lacing of _Eros_ , and after a brief few circuits around the ice, he set up for a quad Salchow, and nailed it to cheering and stamping of feet. 

Still, there were chants of Viktor’s name, all the way up to the one-minute warning. 

Yuuri circled round the rink once more, and stopped short in front of Viktor. He took a drink of water from their shared bottle, and watched as Viktor awkwardly waved to a group of young women in the front row who flew a Russian flag and called out his name in sync. 

Something sinister flashed in Yuuri’s eyes, and he grabbed Viktor’s tie without warning, pulling him forward by it until Viktor stumbled and caught himself on the barrier between them. His coat billowed out to the sides; his long hair swept forward over his shoulders. 

“The show has already begun, Viktor.” Yuuri recognized they were too close, their lips barely an inch apart, and there was a rise of discordant screaming that had nothing to do with Viktor’s name. “I’ll make them forget your name if you look only at me. Don’t take your eyes off me.”

Viktor nodded, and Yuuri released him. No-one was chanting Viktor’s name anymore. 

Yuuri’s name was called, and he pushed away from the barrier, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment but his eyes set in determination. 

\---

“Yuuri.”

“Mhm?” 

“Yuuri that was incredible. Amazing. Perfect.”

“Stop drooling. It was alright.” 

“You’re smiling. You know exactly how well you did.” 

“I’m only in third, though.”

“Yuuri.”

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to skate tomorrow.”

“I have morning practice.”

“No jumps. I mean it.” 

“Hmm…”

“I have condoms.”

Yuuri finally looked at Viktor, his eyes lifting from his now empty skate bag. “Oh?”

“Yuuri, please.”

Yuuri stood and stepped towards Viktor, slow, catlike. “Please, what?” 

Viktor pouted, feeling chided by the smirk on Yuuri’s lips. “Yuuri, I’m so wet for you.”

Viktor’s back hit the bed. 

In a moment, Yuuri was climbing on top of the bed, crawling towards him. “You get so hot from my Eros, don’t you?”

“You have no idea. _Oh!_ ”

Yuuri sat between Viktor’s legs and stroked the ball of his socked foot up the inside of Viktor’s thigh. “You want this?”

“Yuuri, oh, _oh_ \--”

His foot travelled higher, pressing into Viktor’s stretched inseam, the protruding tendon near his groin, the swell of his cock. “You’re not very subtle. Caring for my feet all the time; kissing my skate like that.”

“Please, Yuuri.” 

“Pants off.” 

Viktor struggled for only a moment before his pants were on the floor, nearly torn in his haste. He was pretty sure he’d broken the zipper. His underwear followed, soaked through. 

His reward was Yuuri’s bare toes, clean after Viktor’s care in the locker room but so, so warm. They pressed against the base of his cock, and Yuuri’s arch fit over Viktor’s labia, applying pressure to the sensitive flesh and the under-descended testes within. 

“Fu-u-u-ck!” Viktor groaned. He hardened quickly under Yuuri’s ministrations, the wiggling and stroking of his toes, the gentle rolling pressure of his arch. 

“How long have you wanted this?” Yuuri asked, as if there was any chance Viktor could answer. “Did you think about this during your heat?” 

Viktor only whined and bucked his hips. 

“Of course you did. You’d probably let me do this with my skates on.” 

Viktor’s dick throbbed, and he bit back a scream as he tried not to cum just yet. If he came, this would be over, and Yuuri would take his foot away and that was just unacceptable. 

“Wow. You really want that?” For a moment, Yuuri seemed uncertain, hesitant. 

“Mm… ngh…” Viktor nodded quickly, unable to get the words out. 

Yuuri pressed harder, moved his whole foot up and down the length of Viktor’s cock, all hesitation gone. The strap around Yuuri’s arch that held his costume in place was damp with sweat and rolled with the motion, another subtle sensation that made Viktor groan. 

“You want me to step on you in my skates? I’ll do it. F-freshly sharpened, too.” Yuuri paused, checking Viktor’s reaction. The next words he said in a whisper, trembling, tentative: “They’ll cut you open. And you’ll heal right up, but you’ll never forget, and every time you watch me skate you’ll remember how I made you bleed.” 

Viktor gasped, and he couldn’t hold back anymore; he came, spilling milky white over Yuuri’s toes. 

“Good,” Yuuri murmured, wide-eyed, stroking Viktor slowly through his orgasm. “So good. All for me.” 

“‘M yours,” Viktor agreed. “But I wanted you to fuck me.” 

“Shh. I will.” Yuuri wiped his foot off on the towel he’d brought to bed with him. Viktor recognized it as Yuuri’s sweat towel; he’d only brought one with him to Russia, and even if he washed it, it would still smell like Viktor tomorrow. 

“But I already--”

Yuuri placed a finger over Viktor’s lips; it was sticky, just a bit, and Viktor’s voice died in his throat. “Shh. If you don’t want me to, just say no. But if you want me to--”

“Yes,” Viktor managed, and he spread his legs wider. “Please.”

Yuuri grinned and got his hands around Viktor’s hips, dragging him to the edge of the bed, rumpling his suit jacket. He turned around and gripped the top of his costume’s collar, and Viktor wasted no time getting him out of it, pulling down the zipper and tugging at the hips until Yuuri shed his second skin. 

Then Yuuri was on him again, rucking up Viktor’s buttoned shirt while Viktor picked a strip of condoms from his jacket’s inner pocket with shaky fingers and tore one off. Yuuri pinched his nipples, hard, and Viktor hissed at the pleasure-pain, while trembling fingers dropped the packet on his belly. 

“Yuuri!” 

“Shh. I don’t know who’s next door, but I’m sure we’ll find out tomorrow if they hear you.” Yuuri picked up the condom packet and tore it open. He rolled it down his cock; it was a little tight, as most beta-omega ones tended to be, but an alpha condom would be far too loose. 

“Ready for my fingers?” Yuuri asked. “Or do you want to show me how you fuck yourself?” 

Viktor whined Yuuri’s name and lifted his hips, trying to entice him forward. Yuuri laughed and gave in, let the tips of his fingers just barely brush Viktor’s slit. 

“You want it, Viktor?” 

“Mmn.” 

“Tell me.” Yuuri pressed a little harder, still not enough to part Viktor’s folds. “Tell me what you want, Viktor.”

“Call me Vitya,” Viktor begged, as his hands fisted in the sheets. “And fuck me!” 

“Vitya,” Yuuri said sweetly, and he plunged two fingers in, pushing past Viktor’s squeezing muscles inside of him. Wet warmth enveloped Yuuri’s fingers.

Viktor whined and rocked his hips, forcing Yuuri deeper. “Yes, yes, Yuuri!”

“Thank you for telling me what you wanted, Vitya.” Yuuri drew his fingers out, then pushed back in and wiggled his fingers; Viktor’s slick made a squelching noise, sticky and dripping all over the comforter. “You’re so wet for me, Vitya. It’s like you’re ready for my cock, even without me opening you up.”

“Yes,” Viktor agreed, throwing his head back against the bed. “Ready for you. Always.”

Yuuri pulled his fingers out and grabbed Viktor’s chin, messy slick and all, forcing his head back up. “I told you, Vitya,” he said, all sweetness and desire, “don’t take your eyes off me.” 

Yuuri lined up his cock, and drove in with a shout. 

Viktor keened, and abruptly quieted when he heard knocking on the wall. 

Yuuri swore. His sticky hand shifted from Viktor’s chin to cover his mouth. “Quiet, Vitya.” His hips rolled, and Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, a high whine escaping him and barely muffled by Yuuri’s palm. Yuuri leaned down and replaced his hand with his mouth, licking into Viktor’s, swallowing his moans as his hips pistoned, pounding his cock into Viktor. 

When Viktor’s moans turned frantic, desperate; when his kisses turned sloppy and lax, Yuuri backed away and pushed his fingers into Viktor’s mouth. Salty and sweet, the dried cum turned liquid and Viktor sucked greedily, even as his eyes rolled back in his head. 

“So beautiful,” Yuuri cooed. “I wish I could knot you. Would you like that, my Vitya? A big, fat knot from your omega?”

Viktor sobbed, and his sex squeezed around Yuuri’s, tight but holding back on Viktor’s last shred of sanity. 

“I’m close, Vitya. So close.” Yuuri panted into Viktor’s neck, and he took the skin over Viktor’s pulse between his teeth, biting hard enough that he felt it start to give way before he backed off, sucking and licking to soothe. “So close,” Yuuri repeated, his voice thin, his lips soft on Viktor’s swollen scent gland. “Cum for me.” 

Viktor’s mouth opened wide and loose around Yuuri’s fingers, and he screamed, clenching hard on Yuuri’s cock. Yuuri took two more hard thrusts before he was coming too, emptying into the condom that was the only barrier between them. 

He stayed like that, slumped over Viktor, his lips counting out heartbeats, until his cock was nearly soft, both of them ignoring the second round of knocking on the wall. Yuuri broke away just long enough to get rid of the condom, and then he helped Viktor out of the rest of his clothes and got them both under the blankets. 

“Was that good?” Yuuri asked, shy all of a sudden when he wasn’t too busy being a sex god to think about it.

“Incredible,” Viktor murmured. “You’re incredible.” He pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s shoulder, and promptly fell asleep. 

“I love you,” Yuuri whispered, but Viktor only heard it in his dreams. 

\---

It wasn’t that Yuuri tried to distract himself with sex. It was more that he wanted to have sex, now, and think about everything else, later. So he did just that. 

But eventually, later came around, and he was forced to think about how he’d beaten his personal best score by a wide margin, had a perfect skate, no falls and not a hair out of place, his Eros turned up as high as it could go, and _still_ he was only in third place after the short program. He had a terrible practice to boot, falling on most of his attempted quads, to the point that he’d decided without Viktor suggesting it that he should forgo the flip in his free program, and end on his original quad toe unless he felt exceptionally strong the day of. 

To say that Yuuri was nervous going into the free skate was an understatement. He was nervous, sure, but more than that he was _angry_ ; angry at himself, at the judges, at his score, at the audience, even angry at the ice. 

Most of all, he was angry at Viktor, for up and disappearing minutes before he was set to take the ice. Yuuri searched everywhere, throughout the arena’s many halls, bathrooms, locker rooms, et cetera. He even went up into the stands, to an empty nosebleed section, glasses perched on his nose, trying to pick out a head of silver hair in the audience. It should have been easy, with Viktor stand-out in a pastel pink suit, teal shirt, and purple tie to match Yuuri’s costume, but Yuuri saw neither hide nor hair of him until he came back down to the skaters’ area and saw Viktor out of the corner of his eye, standing exactly where he should have been the whole time. 

“Where were you?” Yuuri asked, immediately regretting his harsh tone. 

Viktor’s eyebrows raised, and he lifted the poodle-shaped tissue case in his arms. “I refilled your tissues. Didn’t I mention it…?” 

“Oh.” Yuuri blinked several times, then reached out for a tissue he didn’t need. “Thank you. Sorry I snapped at you.”

“You’re stressed. I understand.”

It was no excuse, and Yuuri knew it, but he let it go; there was no use arguing to avoid an argument. 

Viktor touched the back of his neck; Yuuri jumped, but then he sank back into it, allowing Viktor’s gloved fingers to massage at the tension there, to put a little pressure just near enough to his scent glands that it calmed him, if only for a while. 

“You’re angry, aren’t you?” Viktor asked. “I am, too. Jojo’s scores were inflated. Yurio’s too, though he did well.”

“His name is J.J.,” Yuuri said absently. “And he had four quads.”

“Four messy quads and a song about his own ego. How very artistic of him,” Viktor said, sarcastic to the bone. “He flutzed twice and travelled on half of his spins. I wouldn’t have given him a single decimal of G.O.E. and the judges gave him seventeen points of it.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“No, but it wasn’t that good, either.” 

Yuuri shook off Viktor’s hand, having had enough of the massage. His tension ramped up again. “The quads race started back in your day, didn’t it?”

“Yes, and it wasn’t any better of an idea then. This may be a sport, but there needs to be some artistry to it. Otherwise we may as well go back to skating school figures.” Viktor leaned against the boards, his chin resting on his palm. “In fact, maybe we should. John-Jacob might find himself outclassed.” 

“I’m pretty sure J.J. stands for Jean-Jacques.” 

“Does it?” Viktor said, only half attentive. “Say, Yuuri, how are you at figures?”

“I can do most of them. Not perfectly, but it was part of my training in the States.” 

“Good on Ciao Ciao to have pushed those ancient forms. That must be why your step sequences are sublime.” 

“Do you really think it was that good?” 

Viktor paused and turned to look Yuuri in the eye. “Of course. Have I not made that clear enough already? You’re better than me, I know you are. James over there doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

“It’s J.J.”

“Yes, of course.”

All too soon, it was time for the second group’s warm-up, after which Yuuri would be first to skate. He shed his jacket, let Viktor primp and polish him, fix his hair, plump his lips with expensive balm, and then Yuuri was on the ice, trying to see more than two feet in front of him through the nerves clouding his eyes with unshed tears. Even Viktor’s reassurances couldn’t break through, and he came off the ice before the one-minute warning, immediately burrowing into Viktor’s arms, the tent of a coat that Viktor wore coming around him like a protective blanket. A nest to-go. 

“What’s wrong, darling?”

Yuuri shook his head, just wanting to be held for a moment, the last few moments he had left before the performance that would decide his fate. 

It was at that moment that Yuri’s coach came over to greet them. 

Yakov Feltsman IV was a severe man, often grumpy in his advancing age. Still, he retained a certain energy that belied youth, or rather, working with youth nearly every day for the past however many years. He stepped up to Viktor like a man who knew no fear, and extended his hand. 

“Yakov Feltsman,” he introduced. 

“Nicholas Wynne,” Viktor responded, extracting one hand from the protective hug to shake. “I apologize, my skater is, er…” He glanced at Yuuri, as best he could with his head tucked against Viktor’s neck. “He’s collecting himself before the free skate.” 

“Yes, I see that,” Coach Feltsman said. The coach’s deadpan delivery was, in Viktor’s opinion, highly amusing, and he stifled a laugh through sheer force of will. “I wanted to meet you in person.”

“Oh.”

“You really do look like him.” 

Viktor only blinked. 

“I’ve only seen pictures and videos of my great-grandfather’s student, but the resemblance is…” He squinted. “Unsettling.” 

“Ah.” 

“Regardless -- you’ve done a good job, bringing out the best in Katsuki. Congratulations.” 

“Thank you, Coach Yakov.” 

Yakov squinted again. “You speak like him, too.” 

Viktor started to stutter, but Yakov only wished good luck to Yuuri and gave Viktor a nod before he turned away, back to his own student and his assistant coaches. 

“See?” Viktor whispered, to turtle-Yuuri who was using him as a shell. “Even Coach Yakov thinks you’re amazing.” 

Yuuri said nothing, only pulled away reluctantly as he heard his name called to skate. “It’s time.” 

“Yuuri,” Viktor called after him, catching his hand. “I believe in you. And no matter what happens, I’ll still be here with you.” 

Yuuri looked back at him, the ghost of a smile daring to quirk up his lips. “I know you will.” He let go, and stepped onto the ice. 

Emotions in shambles, nerves frayed to bits, and now shaken by Yakov Feltsman recognizing Viktor as a man he almost knew. Yuuri knew he was bringing the worst of himself to the ice, but he had no other choice. Quitting wasn’t an option, not when he was so close. He only had to finish in third place to move on to the Final; it wasn’t ideal, wasn’t what Yuuri wanted, but if a bronze medal here was what got him another shot at making Viktor’s dream come true, then he would take it. 

He was at center ice before he knew it, taking the opening position. The music swelled, and Yuuri danced, laying everything his heart felt out on the ice. The anger and frustration, the nerves and anxiety, and in between all those draining emotions there was love, so much of it, carrying him up and forward. 

It wasn’t enough for a clean skate, nor for a combo of perfect jumps. But it was enough to put him in second place, with two skaters left to go. 

Yuuri put his head down as soon as he was out of view of the cameras, seated half in Viktor’s embrace in the green room. The two skaters left were Yuri and J.J., and Yuuri didn’t stand a chance unless one of them screwed up _bad_. He couldn’t watch; he couldn’t think. He might as well kiss the Final goodbye. 

Yuuri cracked his eyes open to stare at the floor, at the ice skates that sat haphazardly next to his socked feet. Normally Viktor would inspect each skate carefully for scratches in the leather or nicks in the blades, but today he’d just stuffed them into soakers and left them be before scooting in next to Yuuri and holding on to him, tight and secure as if he’d float away without Viktor’s love to weigh him down. 

When Yuuri belatedly noticed the red blur around the edges of his vision, he sucked in a harsh breath. “What did I do?” he whispered, and he felt Viktor slump slightly against him. 

“I’m sorry,” was all Viktor had to say. “I’m so sorry, Yuuri.” 

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, please leave a comment! i love comments. they feed my soul. they also help me remember to edit and post the chapters on time, heh... 
> 
> and check out my other smutty viktuuri work in progress, internet safety! it's a BDSM AU, sub viktor and dom yuuri, where they meet online and then get super gay together. you can read it [here on my website](http://casnouveau.com/fanfiction/internetsafety.php) in all its fully formatted glory, or if you prefer, stripped of most formatting [here on ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17327696). the next chapter is scheduled to go up april 6th and includes the first prose sections.


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